


Corpo Cunt/Tarmac Rat: A Love Story

by Nejsu



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Rough Sex, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, The Star Ending (Cyberpunk 2077)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejsu/pseuds/Nejsu
Summary: V prefers to draw clear lines between herself and others. Friends are friends. Lovers are lovers. But when an innocent gesture has her going from zero (okay, maybe two. One and a half?) to ten on the crush-on-her-best-friend scale, there's no turning back. Too bad he doesn't see her the same way. Right?Mitch buried his feelings for V so deep he forgets them himself, most times. Is careful not to let them show. Doesn't want her feeling weird over some old man pining over her. He feels weird enough for the both of them, thanks.
Relationships: Mitch Anderson/V (Cyberpunk 2077)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 62





	1. Beautiful Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> So, fair warning: it's been years since I actually attempted to write anything, and this is my first time publishing a story, ever. But I totally fell in love with Mitch somewhere during playthrough number two, and this idea wouldn't leave me alone. And since there's so little content for him on here, I felt like I had to share. So forgive my extremely rusty writing skills, and what will likely be slow updates. Also, things will get smutty. Like filthy smutty. But not until later ;)

_And when I watch you move_  
_And I can't think straight_  
_And I am silenced_

_-PJ Harvey_

V wasn't really one for romance novels, aside from the occasional foray into the smutty variety when she needs help getting off. And the whole 'friends to lovers' trope had always struck her as terribly cliché. She'd found herself annoyed with the characters more often than not. The quiet pining of some love struck girl. And the love struck guy hanging around said girl was even worse. She'd had male 'friends' of her own who'd only gotten close for the opportunity to get in her pants, and when she'd refused she'd found out just how deep their friendship didn't go.

And she'd always been the type to draw clear lines between herself and others. Friends were friends. Lovers were lovers. Enemies were enemies. And that was that. That Johnny had gone from enemy to friend, one she'd come to love (albeit not romantically), was because their particular sich was one in a million. Though she'd be lying if she said she never felt attracted to Mitch. When that piercing gaze of his met hers just right, or that time she'd found him stripped to the waist washing off, surprised by how fit he was. Even back in NC, when she'd woke in Panam's car and he'd been watching over her... she'd been with River then, and the feelings that evoked had brought on a touch of guilt.

Nothing more than a glitch of her own overclocked libido, reacting to the man's kindness, or so she dismissed it as. With Panam busy running the Bright family as its new leader, V spent much of her spare time with the old veteran. Fortunately he seemed to like her company, happy to teach her about cars or talk about his time with the Aldecaldos or just shoot the shit while she hung around the mechanic's tent. Assisting when she could. Watching him work when just standing takes more energy than she's got.

She was two weeks into the treatments, thinking the side effects might just kill her before the cancers did, and the day had been the worst so far. It was an actual blessing when the pain had knocked her unconscious, sparing her the brunt of it, but after fourteen hours dead to the world she's still off kilter. Shaky and exhausted. Mitch finds her standing on the edge of a literal cliff, contemplating her humanity. Or lack of it. Whatever. Not the first existential crisis she's had since this whole mess started, but this one has her feeling especially brittle. The vast expanse of desert, fata morgana caving in the edges of a shimmering horizon as wispy clouds drift over the darkening sky, makes her feel tiny. Insignificant. It calms her. Makes the fuckload of issues she's got seem manageable.

“Not planning on jumping are you?” She can hear the grin in his voice as she turns to face him, but the lines in Mitch's brow are deeper than usual, revealing concern.

V shakes her head. “Naw, come too far to give up now. 'Sides...” She peers down the cliff edge with a look of exaggerated distaste. “Messy way to go. Wouldn't want you guys having to scrape my meat off some rock like that. Just be rude, yeah?”

Mitch laughs. “That it would.” He sits on a stone outcropping and lights a cigarette and V settles beside him.

“Rough ride today,” he says a few minutes later. Like someone might remark on the weather, but that's just his way. She knows he's worried. The whole family is. The black market nanites she injects twice a day seem like they're making her illness worse. But she was told what to expect, and she'd push through. Having microscopic robots rebuild her cell by cell, organ by organ, would take its toll, the first month or two especially. Migraines, blackouts, generalized pain and seizures – the list of possible side effects went on and on. The 'changes in mood' part seemed laughable among the rest. But maybe it explains V's overblown emotional response to Mitch's quietly uttered question. Or maybe she's held shit in too long, and is just done pretending she's okay.

“Yeah, I-” V begins, but there's something on her face. She swipes at it, confused by the wet on her fingers. “What...?” she tries again but her throat locks up and tears are streaming down her cheeks. The next thing she knows she's got her face in Mitch's lap and she's crying uncontrollably. The ugly kind that's all heaving sobs and wailing with lots of tears and snot and drool coming out of her. Mitch lets her carry on, rubbing her back and smoking his cigarette and occasionally saying things like 'you're alright' and 'just let it out.' So she lets it out. Her grief over Jackie, and for the rest who died in the wake of her mad quest to not disappear. Over how fucked the world is, and how she'd contributed, until Arasaka tossed her. Over River who dumped her when she needed someone most, and for Johnny who's snark-ridden commentary she'd kill to hear just one more time. For her self, her human self, who died in Mikoshi, so this pathetic digital copy that was weeping all over Mitch right now could exist.

Eventually the sobs turn to sniffles, and for a minute she lays on her side while Mitch's hand draws soothing circles between her shoulder blades. He removes it and she thinks she feels the ghost of fingertips over her hair but then his hand settles on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. She sits up, but she's trembling. Has to lean on her arms to keep herself upright. Mitch lights another cigarette and passes it toward her.

“I don't smoke,” she reminds him.

“Just a couple drags,” he tells her, and holds it up to her face. A little annoyed, she relents, and he lifts the cigarette toward her mouth as she inhales. It burns her throat, unaccustomed as she is, and she holds back the urge to cough. Still, the nicotine calms her almost immediately. “One more,” he commands, and maybe it's his tone, or maybe it's his calloused fingertips against her lips, or maybe it's just how fucking fragile she feels right now, but as she takes a second drag the sudden arousal hits her hard. And not some little twinge, easily ignored, but full blown lust that has her heart pounding and her thighs clenched and she's filled with want. She pictures shoving Mitch onto the sandy ground and riding him 'til they're both spent, but her rational mind prevails with a _what the fuck is wrong with you?_ And she remembers this whole thing came about because of a totally humiliating episode that's no doubt left her a blotchy, swollen mess. V eyes the big wet spot on Mitch's thigh courtesy of said episode and winces.

“Sorry about your pants,” she mumbles.

“Don't worry about it,” he chuckles and waves his hand in dismissal. They sit in companionable silence and watch the sunset. She brings her knees up to curl them into her oversized hoodie and he finishes the cigarette he lit for her. Her lips still tingle where he touched them. She licks them. Imagines she can taste him and shivers.

“Hey, um, thanks,” she says after a while.

He shrugs. “No problem. Seemed like you needed that.”

“Yeah,” she admits. Her head throbs and her eyes are gritty but she feels lighter. Relieved. “That was...” she trails off.

“Cathartic?” he offers. She nods, smiling, and he grins back. And there it is again, that heat pooling inside her. She pushes it aside. She's not actually attracted to Mitch, is she? Okay, maybe the tiniest bit, sometimes, but she's not actually _interested_. Mitch is her choom, and definitely not her type, and she's never gotten the slightest hint that he sees her as anything but a friend. Hell, sometimes he calls her 'sister.'

By the time they return to camp, the night obscures the desert beyond the firelight and she's sure it was a fluke. A byproduct of his comforting presence and her clusterfuck of an emotional state. Come morning she'd laugh the whole thing off and he'd continue being just Mitch. Choom and partner in crime and occasional confidante, along with Panam and the rest. But right now her gaze lingers on him as he sits by the campfire, laughing at one of his own lame ass jokes as Cass groans beside him. She lifts the beer she's been clutching in her hand and drains the rest in one go.

Except morning comes, and she's lingering awkwardly outside the mechanic's tent pulling on her cropped tank top self-consciously. Is it too revealing? Not revealing enough? V rolls her eyes. She wears shit like this all the time. No one cares. Mitch sure as fuck won't. She contemplates going back to her tent to play sick. Coward, she berates herself. Besides, she'd promised Mitch she'd help him calibrate turrets or whatever today and she wasn't gonna leave him hanging.

She enters the tent with a hopefully casual 'hello' and stands there in a totally casual way but Mitch just grunts in response, arms deep in the guts of a rail gun, not bothering to look at her. She takes in his thinning hair and average looking face, smudged with auto grease and wrinkled from the two plus decades he's got on her. Tries to convince herself any of it matters, but all she feels is shame for critiquing her friend's appearance.

With a frustrated curse Mitch tears metal apart like paper with his cybernetic hand, the muscles of his back straining beneath his coveralls. Her mouth goes dry.

_Friends are friends_ , she thinks. Mitch shoots her a grin she can only describe as 'sexy.' _Yeah, got a problem_ , she admits to herself. _A minor one, in the grander scheme, but. Still._


	2. What's Yours Is Mine

_Sit down, honey, let's kill some time._  
_Rest your head on this heart of mine._  
_Tell me, honey, cause you look so blue..._  
_Just how did they, did they get to you?_

\- Sleater-Kinney

When Mitch first met V he didn't pay her much mind. More concerned in that moment with recent family drama and the shitload of repairs needed around camp, and worried that Panam's latest act of rebellion was gonna get her killed. He barely spared a glance toward the pretty merc standing a ways off, regarding him and Scorpion with curiosity.

It was actually Scorpion whose attention she caught. “Seriously, man?” Mitch shook his head at his friend, who craned his neck after the girl when she walked away.

Scorpion shrugged. “She's cute.” 

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. Let's just hope whatever shared interest's got her on Pan's side keeps her there.”

The two men watched as the girls drove off in Panam's truck.

“You sure we shouldn't have gone with them?” Scorpion wondered.

“No,” Mitch admitted. Not that it mattered. “Let's just get back to work.”

Two days later, he and Saul and the rest met Panam at the fuel station. They arrived late, and the place was littered with corpses. Not Pan's work – that looked like a bullet to the head or chest, quick and clean. He turned over a body with his foot, and the man's head lolled at an unnatural angle, eyes melted in their sockets. One nearby had both arms blown off.

“Doesn't fuck around, does she?” he remarked.

“No she does not,” Panam agreed. “Are you sure about the bike?”

Mitch nodded. "What am I gonna do, grow a second ass?"

Panam didn't laugh.

“I don't have much use for it, and as you said, V did more for us than she had to.” And a contact like her could be useful in Night City, which wasn't exactly brimming with altruistic types. Especially ones with V's particular skill set. But he kept that bit of pragmatism to himself, since Pan had obviously grown a soft spot for the merc. “And we ain't exactly swimming in eddies here. You?”

Panam sighed. “I have enough to get by. For now," she admitted.

“It's settled, then, unless you want it?”

Panam shook her head and looked at the ground. Her face crumpled for a split second before smoothing out again.

The sound of a garage door rattling open caught both their attention, and V emerged, staggering a bit under the weight of a passed out corpo suit. The man had blood on his face. V had blood all over.

She propped the man up against Scorpion's motorcycle and leaned on the handlebars, fatigue evident in her posture. She'd traded the jacket she'd worn earlier for a flimsy tank top knotted just below her breasts. Tattooed skin shone with sweat, and blood streaked her sculpted arms and torso like warpaint. Large eyes made wider by heavy black makeup caught Mitch's gaze and her lip curled up in a crooked grin.

'Cute' wasn't exactly the word he'd have used right then.

He pushed those first stirrings of something aside easily enough. V was half his age and laughably out of his league. And this was neither the time nor place to be entertaining that kind of interest, especially toward an outsider. So he didn't.

At least until that night before they'd klepped the Basilisk, and Mitch couldn't keep his eyes off her opposite the campfire. Panam noticed. He'd been minding his own a few days later, enjoying a beer while listening to a girl strum a sad melody on guitar, when Pan sidled up to him on the car hood he was leaning against.

“So... V, huh?” She grabbed his beer and took a drink.

Mitch frowned, unsure what she was getting at. “Yeah, really came through on the panzer job, didn't she?” he offered. Panam eyed him in that way that always spelled trouble, since she was waist high and stalking him with incessant questions about car engines. Back then it meant she planned to take something apart. Now it meant she wanted to pry into his personal shit. Mitch would've preferred the former. He snatched his beer back and took a swig.

“Got a thing for her, don't you?”

Mitch nearly spit his beer out. Shot Panam a warning look, and told her to drop it. And she did, just pat his arm before leaning against him. He appreciated that she didn't try to feed him bullshit like he actually stood a chance. Though whatever goodwill he felt toward his friend died when she took his beer back, slung an arm around his neck and toasted, “to unrequited love!”

“Fuck you, Panam,” he'd shot back, then laughed despite himself, and she'd grinned and made a toast to new friends instead. That Mitch could drink to.

But that was several months ago, and there's zero doubt in his mind Panam never spoke to V about it. Especially now, where she likely assumes he'd gotten over it. Should've gotten over it. Maybe V sussed it out on her own. And maybe that's why she's avoiding him lately.

At first he figured V was just embarrassed about the crying fit. Not that Mitch thought any worse of her for it. If anything he's gotta give it to her for keeping her shit together long as she has. Something had to give sometime, and he's glad he got to be there for her when it happened. But, for a strong woman like her to break down like that, it made sense she'd want space away from the one who'd witnessed it. So he gives her that space, and tries not to take it personal. Plenty else to keep him occupied as they move camp anyway.

But then a week turns into two, and he's feeling doubts creep in. Had he done something wrong? Pissed her off? He wracks his brain and tries to think. His memories can be jumbled at times, and his mouth sometimes works before his brain does. But he's pretty sure he didn't do anything to offend her, and anyway she's not the passive aggressive type.

Which is how he'd come to think maybe she figured out how he felt about her. Though he wonders how... He'd buried that shit so deep even he forgets most times. And he's careful not to say or do anything untoward, not to look too long or in the wrong place. Doesn't want her feeling weird (or worse, disgusted) because some old man like him is pining over her. He feels fucking weird enough for both of them, thanks. 

Or maybe it has nothing to do with him at all. But he's a bit done with V's bullshit, whatever the cause, so he decides to corner her one night while she's sitting a ways from the rest, cleaning her iron. They'd hash this out like adults, and come what may.

He scrapes a plastic lawn chair toward her table, and the rabbit in headlights look on her gives him pause. So he picks up a familiar rifle. It feels different. A touch heavier maybe, though the balance makes up for it. He checks the scope and the delay seems shorter than he remembers.

“You been tinkering with her?” he asks.

“Yeah.” V clicks the pieces of her favorite revolver back in place. Her eyes pass over Mitch and dart away.

“It's preem work,” he says.

“Thanks,” she grins, a little cocky this time. “It's a preem rifle.”

“The best,” he agrees, flashing back a cocky grin of his own.

“You built her, right?”

“Sure did. There's an Techtonica Grad in there, prototype model. Pretty sure I switched out all her parts over the years though. Reload always felt a tad clunky to me.” Mitch tests it with the chamber empty and grunts. “Worth it for the added speed.” He looks up and V's staring at him, an expression he can't read on her face. He pushes Overwatch back toward her. “Glad she's in good hands,” he finishes.

V nods. “She is.”

The silence stretches, a little awkward, so he lights a cigarette. He's almost relieved when Panam shows up, hopping up to sit on the edge of their table.

“Hey guys, got a job for you. Both of you. And Carol, since there's going to be some vintage tech to hack.”

“Oh yeah?” V leans forward, elbows on her knees, interested. Mitch takes a drag.

“Uh huh.” Panam grins. “Klep job, should be a cakewalk. But in case it's not, you,” she nods toward V, “will be there for backup. If you are feeling up to it, that is.”

“Definitely. And, no offense, but hanging around the camp lately s'been making me kinda batshit.”

“I thought so,” Panam laughs, then turns to Mitch. “What about you, Mitch. Are you on board?”

“Gonna need more detes, as in any, but sure. Always.” He takes another drag. Panam nods, explains the job, then shoots him a wink and saunters off. 

“What was that about?” V frowns after her.

“No idea,” he answers honestly. He throws down the spent cigarette and stands, stretching. V does that thing again where she eyes him then looks away. There's definitely something up with her and he wants to know what, but meantime it'll be good to get out in the field again. Especially with V tagging along. At her best the girl could slip in and out of a battle zone like some kinda ghost, leaving no one the wiser of her presence, but, mayhem breaks out and she's a special kind of bloody destructive. It's fun as fuck to watch.

And so the next morning has Mitch driving V's black Mackinaw down a dirt road toward some war-era bunker about to be decommissioned. They're to empty it of anything useful before the Militech crew could haul off whatever was being stored there for scrap. The tech would be obsolete, but useful enough for retrofits and repairs. And since it was of little value to the corps, security would be minimal.

“You alright back there, V?” Mitch calls out. Carol rides shotgun, while V's stretched across the back seat, uncharacteristically quiet.

“She's just off in her virtual head space again,” Carol tells him. “It's damned unnerving,” she mutters.

Mitch smirks at that. “You know she can still hear you right?”

“S'okay,” V pipes up from behind him before pulling up between the two front seats. In the rearview mirror, the blue glow of her irises fades away to reveal their natural color. “You should be unnerved. For all you know, I could be plotting with my fellow AI, figuring how best to overthrow the human race.”

Carol snorts at that. “Or you could be watching porn.”

Mitch chuckles as V makes an affronted sound. “My eddies are on cat vids,” he says.

“Nothing wrong with watchin' cat vids,” V mumbles. “And anyway I was workin' on something,” she explains. “Speaking of cats, maybe I'll call her 'Bakeneko.'”

“You mean that daemon you've been writing?” Carol asks her.

“Mhm. Just puttin' the final touches on her code, and she'll be ready for field tests. I'll share if you ask nice, but you're gonna have to spring for that deck upgrade...”

Mitch's attention turns from the conversation to the road ahead as their runner jargon goes places he can't follow. Eventually the bunker comes into view. It's a concrete box half buried in the sand at the base of a valley, tumbleweeds piled against one side. A few mechanized sentries patrol the area as a single drone floats above. Mitch stops the truck just shy of the red 'No Trespassing' hologram bordering the area.

Carol and V make quick work of the mechs, and Mitch figures even if the bunker's a bust, they can reprogram and sell the things for a few eddies. As Carol jacks into the decades old system sealing the entrance, V peers through her scope and Mitch scans the horizon. The scheduled pick up isn't for another week, but there's plenty of other threats in the Arizona desert.

Like the movement he's spotting now. “Hey, V, eleven o'clock,” he calls out.

“Fuck,” is her response, after turning the rifle slightly left. She moves to his side to hand him Overwatch, and he checks the scope. “Three cars, two bikes,” she tells him, not that she has to. The slope beyond the valley had hidden the vehicles' initial approach, and they're close enough now he can make out their paint jobs.

“Reavers,” he says gravely. He turns to warn Carol, but she's already found cover behind Beast, shotgun at the ready. She nods once and he returns it.

“The cannibals?” V asks.

“That's the rumor. How are you with moving targets?”

“Decent. Could be better,” V admits.

Mitch props up Overwatch, and takes a shot. It goes lower than the raider's head he was aiming at, but the motorcyclist loses control and skids out. The next shot is for the other one. He's helmeted so Mitch aims for the tires. “Two down,” he calls out. That leaves the cars, and there's at least two passengers in each. “Nine left, minimum.”

“Good,” V replies.

“Three to one odds are good?”

V shrugs in response and Carol mutters something in Spanish he's pretty sure is a curse. They all duck for cover as the cars pull up, tires squealing and kicking up yellow dust. They stink up the air with the acrid stench of dirty emissions. One car is just a stripped frame save for the engine casing, and Mitch takes out the driver, then drops Overwatch in favor of his assault rifle.

“Carol, breach 'em!” V yells.

“Already on it!” Carol calls back. And then, “what the...”

“Fuck,” Mitch finishes. He looks briefly at V, crouched beside him, eyes glowing and unfocused, then back ahead. 

The raiders are screaming, terrified, running from and attacking some assailant Mitch can's see. Panicked, they lunge at each other. One brings his pistol to his own head and shoots. Another starts mowing down her own people with a machine gun, shrieking “No no no no no! Fuck no!” He snaps out of his stupor, raising his own gun, not sure it's even necessary. He aims and shoots anyway, just to speed things along. He hears Carol's shotgun do the same.

The entire scene lasts minutes, if that, and then there's just corpses. V coughs, and he's distracted by the blood spilling over her hand from her nose, so he doesn't see the man sneak up from behind until it's too late. It's the second cyclist, and Mitch sees the grenade leave the man's hand in slow motion as Kerenzikov responds to his spike in adrenaline. He launches himself at V, screams something at Carol, and the grenade bounces a foot away and into a raider's vehicle. The blast is deafening and Mitch closes his eyes against the sudden heat. Turns back to shoot the assailant. The man falls, twitching, just as time speeds back up.

He sits up. Looks at V, whose nose is still bleeding but otherwise she's unharmed. Looks at Carol, who is coughing up dust but gesturing that she's alright. Looks down at his side, which suddenly hurts. There's a two foot square piece of metal sticking out of it.

“Well shit,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments! Figured like, two other people out there would be into this pairing, so glad that's not the case :D
> 
> And yeah, I took some liberties here with Mitch's cyberware. He doesn't strike me as the vain type, so I'm thinking all that stuff on his face isn't just for show, and actually does stuff.


	3. Flutter

_The blood run, the blood run away_  
_From arm and leg to a warm heart_  
_All our colors agree_  
_In the dark_

-16 Horsepower

  
“Cakewalk, my ass,” V mutters.

Not that Panam's to blame. Carol shooed V away as she got Mitch stable enough to move, as her half-panicked state wasn't helping. And from the shards she found on the bodies, V learned the Reavers zeroed Panam's Militech contact and stole his intel. Pan's insistence that they get the job done, stat, kept them from falling into a Reaver trap. A stroke of bad luck that could've been worse.

Carol drives Beast through the desert at top speed with V once again in back. Only now Mitch leans against her as she tries to keep as much of his blood in him as possible. Carol's field dressing had closed him up enough to keep his organs from falling out, but there's still so much of it. She tastes it in the air, copper on the back of her tongue as red seeps out, hot between her fingers. It seems a whole person's worth, and it keeps coming.

_Stop it_ , she thinks. “He'll make it,” she says aloud.

“Damn right he will,” Carol agrees. “He's a tough son of a bitch.”

“Can't you drive any faster!?” V urges. She already knows the answer. Carol is flooring it, and Beast was made to race after all. The passing desert's a blur but it's not enough. Faster, faster, she urges it silently.

“Going fast as I can, honey.” Carol tells her. “Give him another hypo.”

“But-”

“He can handle it,” Carol assures her. Right. Thanks to his time in the war, Mitch's drug tolerance likely rivaled that of any Maelstromer's. V plunges the healing stimulant into his chest and he groans. Mumbles something. V leans down to hear him better.

“What's that, Mitch?” She half expects him to start spouting last words at her, and she's not sure she can take it.

“Sorry about your pants,” he mutters.

“Fuck's sake,” V bites out. “Just, shut up okay? Save your strength.”

He laughs, then coughs. V presses against his wound harder. Squeezes her eyes shut to keep some semblance of calm. _I love him_ , she realizes. The thought sinks, hard and sour, deep in her belly, and she pulls him closer. “You'll make it,” she whispers. “You have to.”

Finally they arrive at camp. Carol runs for the ripperdoc and someone drags a now unconscious Mitch away from her. V stands useless off to the side, shivering as her blood soaked clothing goes clammy. Eventually Panam steers her away and helps her change. Wipes off her face and hands like one might a child's. “I can't do this,” V admits. “Not after Jackie. And Johnny.” Panam nods. Her eyes are glassy and shot pink, and her hands, clutching a bloody rag, visibly shake. V pulls herself from her stupor. Mitch is Pan's friend, mentor, and brother all in one, and she's no stranger to loss either. V takes a deep shuddering breath and releases it. “We should get back. See if they're done stitching him up,” she says. “Maybe they can tell us something now.”

His prognosis is good. The shrapnel went deep, but narrowly missed anything major. He'll need a few blood transfusions, and a hell of a lot of bed rest, but he'll pull through. V is nearly sick with relief. Afterward Carol finds her, insisting she see the ripperdoc next.

“Did something happen?” Panam asks, brows shooting up in alarm.

“I'm fine,” V tells her. “Deck had a mishap. Overheated or something.”

“Or something,” Carol scoffs, leading her away. “Stay with Mitch, Panam. You'll let V know if anything changes, right?”

Panam hesitates, looking concerned, but nods. “Of course.”

Once they're out of earshot Carol stops, turning V to face her. “What the hell was that back there?” she demands.

“Listen, I'm sorry,” V says. “I shouldn't have tested her in the field like that. Shoulda warned you at least. But that wasn't supposed to happen!”

“What?” Carol asks. “You going catatonic? And bleeding from your face after?”

“No, not that...” V pauses when Carol scowls at her. “Well, that too,” she relents. “The daemon's supposed to trigger a fear response in the person it affects. They get shook, maybe freeze up, get sloppy. She shouldn't have been able to manifest their greatest fear, or whatever the fuck! I think...” V shakes her head, and bites down on her lip. “This is gonna sound crazy.”

“Coming from you, I don't doubt it,” Carol deadpans. V huffs out a laugh.

“I think Bakeneko re-wrote herself. I'll have to check her code, but she's takin' up way more space than she should. Maxed out my RAM when I deployed her. That's why my deck froze, and I was out of it after. Else I woulda seen that asshole with the grenade and Mitch...”

“Mitch will be fine,” Carol assures her. “And your daemon took out that entire group. Maybe saved all our asses, with how outnumbered we were. Now let's get you checked out. Make sure that gonk brain of yours isn't even more scrambled than it was already. And then we'll look at this soft of yours.”

After the ripperdoc gives V a clean bill of health (or at any rate it's not worse, and her tumors are still shrinking, which is a win), Carol helps V upload Bakeneko to a server isolated from the camp's subnet for analysis. Then scrubs her deck to be safe. V feels an odd sense of loss after. Nothing like when Johnny left, but it's familiar enough to leave her saddened by the reminder.

Sensing her mood, or maybe just irritated at V's hovering as Mitch sleeps off the drugs and blood loss, Panam sends her off with a supply run the following day. Despite V's initial protests, the change of scene is a welcome distraction. On their way back to camp she gets seven text messages from seven different people telling her essentially the same thing. Mitch is awake.

Also, from Mitch: _I'm awake. And alive. I think. Too high on pain meds to be sure._

Grinning stupidly with relief, she texts him back a picture, one of her favorites.

_V: Glad to hear it! Be back soon_

_Mitch: What the hell is that?_

_V: It's Mr. Nibbles, being adorable._

_Mitch: I thought it was an alien._

_V: You take that back_

_Mitch. Also, you named your hairless cat Mr. Nibbles? There's a dirty joke in there somewhere_ :D

It takes V a moment. She blushes. How did that never occur to her? And it hits too close to certain fantasies she's been having lately.

_V: It wasn't me who named him._

_V: And stop insulting my best friend_

_Mitch: Guess I'm demoted then huh. Damn. See you when you get back_ :)

_V: Whatever_ >:(

Back at camp, V forces herself to walk to the medic's tent, and forces herself not to fall on Mitch with a hug. Instead she grips the back of the chair Cassidy's occupying and grins. Mitch grins back. “Thank god you're here. If I had to listen to one more long-winded summary of some novel Cassidy thinks I should read I was gonna stab myself all over again.”

“Hey fuck you, man,” Cassidy drawls.

V laughs. “It's good you're awake, Mitch.”

“I ain't so sure,” Cassidy counters. “Now if you'll excuse me.” He stands and tips his hat to V. “I'll go find someplace I'm actually wanted.” He winks at V and she returns it.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Mitch offers with a smirk. Cassidy leaves the tent, flipping him off.

V sits in the vacated chair at his bedside. “How you feelin' choom?”

“Eh, been through worse.” He shrugged. 

“Mhm. That's what, three near-death experiences in the last year?” V chides him. “Gotta stop meetin' like this, Mitch.”

Mitch laughs. “I'd say that puts me one up on you, but, you actually died twice. Pretty sure that's worth double the points. Need one more for a tie.”

“Please don't. Not sure I could take it,” she says honestly, and because it sounds a little like a confession she looks everywhere but at him. There's a few beats of silence and V fusses with the edge of the bed sheet. Mitch's hand lays upon it, scuffed Synthskin carbon black on white. V wonders what it would feel like to be touched by it. Heat flutters inside her at the thought.

“Hey, V.” She tears her gaze back to his face, hoping her blush isn't obvious.

“Yeah, Mitch?”

“We good?”

V frowns, confused. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Just, I dunno... thought maybe I did something. It's like you've been avoiding me of late.”

V opens her mouth to respond then closes it. Fidgets. Her first instinct is denial, but Mitch has never shied from calling out her bullshit. And she's ashamed enough without the added lie. She certainly hadn't intended for him to feel bad, didn't think he'd blame himself.

“No, you didn't do anything. I was just...”

_Acting the dumb girl like in those dumb love stories, hiding away with these feelings I was too scared to face._

“I was just being stupid,” she finishes finally. “Got caught up in my head for a bit. You didn't do anything,” she repeats. “We're good.”

“Okay...” Mitch looks unconvinced, but doesn't press further.

“By the way,” V says. “Thanks for the rescue yesterday. Though it shouldn't have happened. Sorry about that." 

Mitch shakes his head. “No, that was on me. I should've checked if the guy I put down stayed down. It was sloppy.” V starts to interrupt, to disagree, but he continues. “And speaking of, what happened to you back there? Been a while since you've gotten a nosebleed like that. You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm good. It's nothing to do with... that.” She avoids bringing up her condition. She's tired of people fussing over her, and now that her health's improved there's even less reason for it. “Daemon's bugged or something. Cyberdeck glitched out, causing the nosebleed. Carol and I are lookin' into it.”

“Hope you two figure it out then.” Mitch regards her a moment, then breaks out in a grin. “Cause that was damn impressive. Just when I thought you couldn't be any more of a badass.”

“Thanks.” And there's that flutter again. _Guess we can add 'praise kink' to my long list of fetishes_ , V thinks. _Preem_.

He settles back against the pillows and closes his eyes with a sigh. It pains her to see how pale he is. How haggard. He looks older. But where not long ago she was seeking out flaws to dissuade her own attraction, she now takes in the long lashes shadowing his cheek, the curve of his lips and the angle of his jaw, and how his cyberware outlines the tendons in his neck. Had she really thought of him as not her type once? What was it Lizzy had said... 'the heart wants what it wants?' _Great_ , V thinks. _Now I'm internally quoting some murder-happy pop star on matters of romance._

Mitch's eyes open and the color makes her think of the Night City coastline just before a rain storm. And she thinks there's a warmth to his gaze, and something wistful in his expression, but then he looks away. Scratches at the scar on his cheek and frowns slightly, and she figures she'd imagined it.

V clears her throat. “Anyway, I should let you rest. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Pack of smokes and a six pack?”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“Eh, worth a shot.”

“Get some sleep, Mitch.”


	4. Angel's Wings

_I triumphed in the face of adversity_  
_And I became the man I never thought I'd be_  
_And now my biggest challenge, a thing called love_  
_I guess I'm not as tough as I thought I was_

-Social Distortion

  
_Night City outskirts, 2077_

The scene he steered the Basilisk into was rather a dire one. Militech forces had blocked the road leading out of the construction site on both ends, and it was clear the Aldecaldos caught between were making their final stand. Cars formed a makeshift blockade roughly circular in shape, human figures forming the center of the bulls-eye within.

Yeah, not if Mitch had anything to do with it.

He shifted his attention from thrusters and propulsion systems to crosshairs and targets. Rocket launcher here. Cannon there. The noise in his head amplified as memories rushed him.

He'd been here before. Another last stand, in another wasteland miles away. But Scorpion's with him and they're on the winning side, but it sure as fuck doesn't feel like it when the soldiers they're firing at are teenagers still. 

_But we're fighting for freedom._

_Oh yeah? Whose?_

Mitch shook off the vision but was bombarded by others. He forced the cargo panzer forward, sending a barrage of cannons into the Militech army ahead. Some of the memories weren't his. He'd caught flashes the night before when he jacked into the Basilisk with V. A phenomenon he'd only heard of until then, but it was easy enough to block them out along with the sensory feedback he got from her. But the memories were stamped on his subconscious, and he could only watch as they played back now.

“Lead to the head, only thing that'll fix this,” someone says to him. His face is smashed against glass and the city, uncaring beyond the window, loses focus. And he's crawling across the floor as the stranger paces before him, menacing. He's in pain. Angry. Terrified. Mitch had almost forgotten what that last one felt like.

The scene shifts. Another room. The evening sun filters through a single dirty window.

_Would you take a bullet for me?_

_I would._

And then V's sitting before him, gun in hand, because a bullet to the brain can still fix this. But she ain't the type to take the easy road. Never one to stand back and let herself be saved, though he wants nothing more than to do that. She looks up at him with those big eyes, full of hope even now, and smiles. He's got this crazy urge to hug her, but that ain't his style. And it ain't hers either, so he puts a hand on her shoulder and feels her lean into it.

_See you on the other side._

Mitch looks at his own hand and flexes his fingers. Black as motor oil. Black as death. He didn't choose it. He broke his wrist and they took his arm, and the ripperdoc grinned at him, gold teeth catching the light. “We'll get you a better one, get you back out there.” Cheaper to replace a limb than wait for it to heal. Strung out on pain suppressors, the edge of what's left of him raw and bleeding, he's back in the fight the next day.

_Focus._

His ammo was running out, so Mitch drove the Basilisk through the remaining forces on his side, mowing down human and mech alike. Kept his attention on the crosshairs even as streaks of red and sparking chrome superimposed themselves on his vision. He circled around, launching the last of his rockets into the enemy. There was fire and smoke and the spray of pink in the noon sun. 

_Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds._ Trails across his sight turned kaleidoscopic.

The panzer broke down and so did he. People were yelling somewhere beyond the shrill pitch in his ears, and the sky was so vast and blue he thought he'd been swallowed by it. “He's still breathing!” said someone, slow and stuttering like broken vinyl. _Yeah, no shit,_ he thought. _Goddamn air's tryin' to rip my lungs apart._ “Fuck! V! Someone help V!” said another. _Yeah, help V. I'll be fine. Just gonna walk this off. Soon as I can figure out where my legs got to._

He woke in the medic's tent, and was told he'd been out for a couple weeks. He could think words, but his mouth had forgotten how to make the sounds, and it was another eleven days before he remembered. They told him the raid was successful, and they were now sitting on millions of eddies worth of stolen Arasaka tech. But about a dozen Aldecaldos were dead, Saul among them. The remainder had moved camp again, while some had made the trip south ahead of the rest. And V had done what she'd set to do in Mikoshi, but it only bought her time. Half a year, maybe.

“I want her to come with us when we leave,” Panam told him. “I still think we can help her. Maybe you can convince her? She won't pick up my calls.”

She didn't pick up when he called either, so he left a voicemail. Didn't say anything about her going with the family, but tried to convey she'd always be welcome. A few days later he got a text, along with a still of two cars, and the caption 'which one?' Puzzled, he answered her.

_Mitch: Both are solid. Coyote's faster off road, and I'd argue she handles better. And there's some preem work done on that one. Javelina's better on pavement, and will give you more miles a gallon. Parts are easier to come by also._

_V: So... Coyote then?_

_Mitch: If you're asking which I'd go with? Yeah. We'll have to offload some of this tech before I can swing new wheels though._

_V: Heard about your mule. Sorry about that :(_

_Mitch: Me too_

That was the end of the conversation. But she started messaging him regularly after. Random shit she came across in the city, or stories about her crazier gigs. He got the sense she was tying up loose ends. He tried not to dwell much on why.

And then she started with the photographs. Buildings at odd angles, dingy alleys, street art both beautiful and crude. Some evoked her obvious love for the city. Others her hatred of it. Often they had a lonely quality, though he couldn't put his finger on why.

'I feel like there's ghosts around every corner,' she wrote once. The accompanying photo looked like an apartment stairwell, vandalized and littered with trash, ending in shadowed black. It was four in the morning when she sent it.

Sometimes he got ones of people. A pretty goth girl mulling over tarot cards. A homeless man reading a paper copy of The Odyssey. A monk smiling wistfully at children playing. He wondered at the story behind her shot of a half dozen Maelstrom goons. With their arms slung across each other's shoulders, grinning at the camera, they resembled a group of old world schoolboys. If you ignored their hellish implants and the army's worth of weaponry between then anyway.

Once she sent Mitch a picture of himself. He had no idea when she'd taken it, but it was a grayscale shot of him peering through a cloud of cigarette smoke, the sun low in the background. He looked almost handsome in it, and some fool part of him hoped she saw him that way, at least a little. It was especially foolish when he knew she was taken, and that her input looked like he could play the hunky protagonist in some action BD.

She visited camp not even a week before they planned to leave Night City. Asked if it was really alright if she tagged along. Panam hugged V in excitement, and Mitch laughed at her obvious discomfort and awkward hug back. He settled for a hand on V's shoulder, and shook off deja-vu.

“We're glad to have you, V,” he told her earnestly. Her eyes met his and he was relieved to still see hope in them. Afterward she asked him for a ride back to the city. He eyed the Coyote she'd driven into camp, confused.

“She's yours now. Figure replacing your wheels is the least I could do.” He stared at her, stunned. 

“V, I can't-” he started.

“You can,” she cut him off. “Seriously, I want you to have her. Couldn't bring myself to sell her to some random gonk anyway. Think of it as your cut of the job if you want.” She gave him a look that brokered no argument, and Panam gave him a look like she was in on it, so he left it alone. Took the car with his thanks, and managed to keep a smile on when V asked him to drop her at her input's place. Even wished her luck when she said she was trying to talk River into coming with.

When she later told him it didn't work out he felt relief, which in turn made him feel like an asshole. Would've liked to think petty shit like jealousy was beneath him. It was also when he realized he was in love with a dying woman, because apparently the past fucking year hadn't been tragic enough.

  
_Saguaro Desert west, 2078_

Mitch holds his side and struggles out of bed. He's been laid up for days and gone achy and stiff as a result. Nothing like his stunt with the panzer where he had to learn how to walk again after, but he does stumble on his feet at first. At least the stitches are out, but the pull of fresh scars makes him wince.

“Gettin' too old for this shit,” he mutters.

It's sometime between late and early so there aren't many about, but he's pleased to find V lounging by one of the campfires. Stretched across the length of a ratty couch, she's got a guitar over her lap and a far off look on her face.

She starts a bit when he greets her. “Couldn't sleep either, huh?” He gestures for her to move her feet and sits, surprised when she drops them back on his lap after. It's a move he might expect from Panam, but V tends to keep to her personal space. He eyes the beer bottles on the ground beside her and wonders how many she's had.

“Nah, too much on my mind. Should you be up yet?”

Mitch lights a cigarette and shrugs. “Probably not.” He hesitates before resting a hand just below her knees. She doesn't seem to mind so he leaves it there. “Ennie for your thoughts?”

V gives him a small smile and shakes her head, softly plucking random notes from her guitar.

“Didn't know you played,” he tells her.

“Don't. Tryin' to learn though. It's... not going well. You'd think Johnny's talent would'a rubbed off a little.” She chuckles, strumming some off key melody he can't quite place. “All I got was a heavy dose of nihilism and an overblown sense of my own importance.”

Mitch laughs at that. “Bit of a contradiction, ain't it?”

“Johnny in a nutshell.” V sets the guitar on the ground and leans back to stare at the sky. “I was nineteen the first time I actually saw stars,” she tells him after a few minutes of silence.

“You're kidding?”

“Nope. Never left Night City before that, and with all the light pollution...” She sits up, curling her legs beneath her, and he shoves aside a pang of disappointment. He's not sure what's bringing these old feelings back up. Too much time idle, he figures. Lying around waiting for his injury to heal, he's had little to do but wallow in thought and old memories.

“I mean, you'd catch a few faint ones, sometimes, and there was this big power outage when I was a kid,” V continues. “Longest time, I thought it was a dream. Didn't think the sky could actually look like that in real life.”

“But you never left, ever? We used to run across city kids in those badlands all the time,” Mitch remembers. “Drinking and racing and such. Reckless, what with the Shiv around, but teenagers usually are.”

“Kids I ran with?” V scoffs. “Naw, they were all about the city life. Nightclubs and designer clothes. Designer drugs. All that shiny superficial shit. Not the types to go out joyriding in the desert. It was dirty and backward. And filled with dangerous nomad types.” She pauses, smirking. “Like yourself.”

“Dangerous, huh?” He grins at that.

“Dirty and backward,” she corrects him.

“Ouch.” He laughs. “Anyway, doesn't sound like you.” He never could reconcile V's past with what he knew of her. Too down to earth. Too compassionate. 'I shut that off,' she admitted once. 'Boosters they gave us helped.'

V shakes her head. “It wasn't,” she agrees. “Was always the odd one out. Had big dreams, wanted to see the world. Part of why I started working for Arasaka. Wanted a job where I could travel. About a year in they sent me to the border.” She's silent a moment and Mitch can guess why. Agents at the border meant breaking up smuggling rings. She'd likely arrested her share of nomads, and killed more. But Mitch had zeroed his share of corpos, and how many might've been like V, beneath their fancy suits and fancy drugs? You did what you had to to survive, no matter which side you were on. At least V had picked the right one, in the end.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I was nineteen, like I said. First time outside the city. Feeling so over my head but, fake it 'til you make it, right? I was faking hard. But then it was night and I was outside and saw that sky, looking like it does now...? Agent I was shadowing asked me if I was trying to catch flies with my mouth. So much for my cool corpo bitch act.” She smiles at the memory. “But it was the first time I felt, I dunno... awe?” V gives him a sheepish look. “Sounds kinda gonk out loud.”

“Not at all,” Mitch says honestly. He imagines her staring up at the same sky he takes for granted, all child-like wonder. He's grateful that aspect of her has stayed, by some miracle, intact.

V huddles into her side of the couch and closes her eyes. Firelight flickers across her skin as a gentle breeze lifts the ends of her hair. Mitch looks away and finishes his cigarette, tossing it in the fire. He settles back against the cushions, and watches the flames dance. His side aches. A lone cricket chirps. He feels V shift beside him. Her arm hangs off the edge of the couch, fingers brushing the sand, and he can see where injection sites have left behind mottled bruises and darkened the veins beneath her skin. He realizes she's fallen asleep.

He lifts her hand to lay it across her stomach, and suddenly he's shoved off the couch, his back slamming painfully against the ground. Her hand grips his throat, surprisingly strong. He tears it away, as his other hand catches her other wrist before she can get at the knife he knows she hides in her boot. She falls over, half straddling him, and he exhales sharply when she knees him in the side. She squirms against him and he grips her tighter, yanking her arms sideways until she's flush against his chest. “Fuck's sake V, relax,” he says.

She stills and blinks up at him. “Mitch?”

He smiles down at her. Tries to ignore the way she settles against him as the tension drains out of her. “Last I checked.” He catches a whiff of her shampoo and has to stop himself from sniffing her hair like some kind of pervert. 

She scrambles away and he releases his hold on her. “Shit, Mitch, I'm so sorry! I don't know what...” She trails off, kneeling in the dirt, arms crossed over her chest. He stands and brushes himself off, unsettled. And not by the fact the she tried to attack him. Was he seriously getting turned on right now? Christ. Maybe he should just hire a joytoy, personal scruples be damned, before he embarrassed himself. Just had to find one willing to let him... he cut off the train of thought. His interest in V wasn't just about sex anyway. Never had been. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it.

“You fell asleep,” he explains. “Bad dreams?” He offers a hand and she takes it, standing.

“Yeah,” she nods, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “Sometimes I-” She stops, eyeing a pair of teens pretending not to eavesdrop on the other side of the fire. Another group watches them curiously from a nearby park bench, a game of cards paused between them. V huffs out a breath and fusses with her hair, looking around like she's lost.

“Let's go for a drive,” Mitch offers.

“Right now?”

Mitch shrugs. “Think you'll be getting any sleep soon?” 

“Prob'ly not,” she agrees. He waits for her to shrug her jacket on before heading toward where his Coyote's parked. Practically gathering dust, he figures, as he hasn't driven her since before the grenade incident. Getting in the driver's seat, he waits for V to settle in beside him before starting the ignition. The engine purrs to life. Best sound in the world, that.

“Something I've been meaning to show you,” he tells her. “Still into taking pictures, right? Got your phone?”

“Uh, no... should I...?”

“Nah, just use mine. Kinda want to beat the sunrise.”

V snickers. “That old thing even take pictures?” 

“Ha ha,” Mitch says, and steps on the gas. He steers out toward Tuscon, where the stars fade into the glow of the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Sorry for the long wait for this one. Real life, blah blah, work, blah... You know how it goes. Bright side, I worked on the next couple chapters between struggling with this one, so the next updates should be much quicker. I hope! 
> 
> Also, fair warning: I'm trying to keep this story as canon-compliant as I can, and make whatever artistic liberties I take at least believable. But as I add in details of my V's origin story, know that I'm not quite done with my corpo playthrough, and I don't always choose those dialogue options when they present. So I might contradict the game a bit there. Feel free to let me know if something's super off though!
> 
> Also, thanks again to everyone who left kudos, and especially those that left comments. I may not always reply, but know that I really appreciate them!


	5. Reaching Out

See _how the flower leans instinctively toward the light_  
_See how the heart reaches out instinctively_  
_For no reason but to touch_

-Kate Bush

Resting against the passenger door of Mitch's car, V puts her hand out the window to catch the wind as they bounce over the dunes. He seems to be hitting the largest ones on purpose, making the Coyote fly. It's not the only thing making her giddy. Being alone with him, outside of camp, has every part of her on edge.

“How come when I drive this fast, it feels like I've got soap on my wheels?” she asks, more to distract herself than anything.

“Should've stuck with the Coyote,” Mitch says. “Told you she handles better.” Sunrise is just a dim promise on the horizon, so he's a silhouette in profile, outlined by the dash's glow. But she can tell by his tone he's smiling.

“Javelina's sexier,” she argues.

“Looks ain't everything, sister,” he chuckles.

 _I'm well aware_ , V thinks.

“Or it could just be your unfortunate driving skills,” he goes on. “I didn't even think it was possible to spin out in a cargo panzer, but you managed it that one time, and how.” V flips him off, grinning as she remembers. Johnny had complained about her driving too, often lamenting the fate of his precious Porsche. He'd probably be relieved that it's safe in Kerry's possession now.

They ride on in silence, and V closes her eyes, relishing the feel of the wind on her face. Back in Night City, she would often take Scorpion's bike out into the badlands. Riding aimlessly through the desert wastes, blasting neo-hardcore and feeling the wind lash at her body, was one of the few things that kept her feeling sane. Kept Johnny quiet too, when she needed him to be. Could never bring herself to subdue him with those pills, even when she still hated him.

“Yesterday I passed my sell-by date,” V says. She rolls up her window and turns to see Mitch glance at her.

“Not sure I follow, V.”

“Six months,” she clarifies. “That's how long Alt said I'd live. Vik thought I'd make it a year if I took my meds. But then I started deteriorating, fast, even with the pills. So I was back to six months.” V remembers when he told her. She'd cried then too, though it wasn't the dramatic meltdown like she'd had in front of Mitch. Viktor had put his arm around her, assuring her he'd never stop looking for a cure, or at least some way to extend her life. She wonders now in amusement if, had it not been for River, she'd have fallen for the old ripperdoc instead.

But she now knows that moment with Mitch had only been the catalyst. She's come to realize in the weeks since that he'd long intrigued her in a way that wasn't just platonic. She'd just been too used to whirlwind romances sparked by physical tension, too insistent on placing people and relationships in neatly categorized boxes, and perhaps too shallow in her definition of 'attractive,' to see it for it what it was.

“Obviously I wasn't gonna flatline on that exact date, but I still kept it in my head, you know? Just so I'd remember, so it didn't sneak up on me. Thought I'd be more ready for it that way. Less afraid.” She pauses, biting down on her lower lip. She looks sideways at the passing landscape, at dark shapes against the indigo of the sky beyond the headlights' reach. She feels Mitch's hand find hers for a moment and squeeze before letting go again. She resists the urge to chase after it, so she can hold it against her pounding heart.

“I think that's why I've been having the nightmares again. The ones I used to get after Mikoshi,” she explains. She knows it's not needed. That Mitch had forgiven her for the attack as soon as it was over. But she still feels awful. Hates herself for losing control. It's the thing she's always feared most. When Johnny had betrayed her that first time she'd given it to him, she'd been livid. Heartbroken. It wasn't until that conversation at the sad scene of his unmarked grave that she'd finally forgiven him for it.

In the dreams it isn't Johnny that steals control from her, but a copy of herself. And the worst part is, she's not sure which one is actually her, or which one she's even rooting for. She's the impostor, after all. A ghost possessing her old body, the soulless remnant of a girl who died.

Are her feelings for Mitch even real, or is she programmed to think they are? Or was that just another excuse, because what she's really afraid of is rejection? Of the wound to her ego if he turns her down? _Just tell him_ , V thinks. But she sits silent instead, because despite the countless times she's rehearsed them, the words won't come.

“But you're still here,” Mitch says. “And will be for a while. The treatments are helping right? You seem like you're doing better.”

“I am,” V agrees. “Cancer's in remission, it looks like. And the nanites are repairing the damage. Can't say I quite feel like my old self again, and maybe I never will. And who knows what the future'll bring. I'm playin' test subject as you know. Treatment wasn't exactly made for this. Immune system attacking you 'cause your body's supposed to be someone else's ain't exactly in the medical books. But yeah,” she finishes. “I'm doing better.”

“That's good to hear,” Mitch replies. “Real good.” There's a hitch to his voice that has her feeling like she should be the one comforting him. But she keeps silent and keeps her hands to herself. Curls them into fists instead, frustrated with herself.

“Anyway, here we are.” Mitch clears his throat, and brings the car to a stop. The interior lights up as he kills the engine. “Came across it when we were scouting out a place to camp. We'd set up here a few years back, but decided it was too close to the city now. Thought it best to keep a low profile what with the quantity of klepped goods in our possession, courtesy of a certain someone.” He turns to smile at her and V smiles back. “Figured you'd get a kick out of it. Would'a brought you here sooner, but haven't had the chance since that salvage job went pear-shaped.”

He flicks the high beams on, and gets out of the car. V follows suit.

“Whoa,” she breathes. On the flat side of a boulder that looks like it had cracked in half, someone had painted a giant photorealistic scorpion. Looming several feet above her head, it looks poised to attack.

“Forgot all about it 'til I was here a few weeks back. Crazy bastard spent a month up here between gigs working on it,” Mitch goes on. “Damn near gave me a heart attack at first. Bet he'd have laughed his ass off at that, were he still here.”

“Wait, did Scorpion do this?” V takes several steps closer, taking in the detail. A month sounded right.

"Uh huh."

"I feel like it's gonna come to life,” she marvels, then turns back toward Mitch. “I didn't know he was an artist.”

"Yep. Did all the detail work on your bike himself. Did both our wheels too. Used to say he was 'a man of many talents.' Arrogant prick.” He smiles fondly. “I still have one of his sketchbooks. Remind me to show you sometime.”

“I'll do that,” she promises. She stretches out her hand. “Now gimme your phone.” He hands it to her, and she smiles at the years out-of-date model with the cracked screen. It's especially amusing with how he fusses over every little scratch and odd noise when it comes to anything with wheels anywhere in his vicinity.

She takes a few shots of the painting, first in the dramatic light of the high beams, then, after instructing Mitch to turn them off, in the softer light of the rising sun. She gets one where the camera flash highlights the scorpion and surrounding cacti, but the rest of the boulder merges with the night sky. It looks like something out of a campy horror film.

She hands Mitch's phone back. “Alright, now take some of me in front of it.” He snorts but complies, obliging her with a brief photo shoot as she comes up with progressively more absurd poses. Though in the end she's just seeing how hard she can make Mitch laugh at her.

“Alright, what've we got...” She thumbs through the images, settling on one of her playing the distressed damsel, monster poised to strike above.

“Mind if send this to Judy?” V asks. She's already typing out a message as Mitch shakes his head, lighting a cigarette. He already has her friend's detes, and she knows they sometimes message each other. Mostly to nerd out over things tech-related.

“How's she doing these days?” Mitch asks her.

“Good. She's back in Colorado now, though she's thinking of heading south on her next trip out. Might even come this way, stay with the family for a bit. Be great to see her again.” V returns Mitch's phone, and joins him in leaning against his car. They watch as the sun peaks out, a viscous red. The city lies just beyond the mountain, she knows, and the cloud of smog that hangs above it paints the sky a vivid pink.

“It would,” Mitch agrees. “To meet her in person, in my case. She's a good kid.” 

V nods in agreement. “Think we'll ever head north again? Back toward Night city?” she wonders.

“It's possible, eventually,” he replies. “Won't be for a while though. Whole lot of dust's gotta settle first. Pretty sure we managed to rattle every corpo cage in the city on our last visit.” He smirks at that, then shoots her a searching look. “You ever miss it?” There's an edge to his voice, she notices. He takes a drag of his cigarette.

“A bit,” She looks down at the ground and rolls a rock beneath her boot. “Not enough to stay or anything...” She glances up to see Mitch relax, as if relieved. Would he be that disappointed if she left the Aldecaldos, she wonders. She smiles a little at that. “Just, would be nice to see some old friends again. Misty and Viktor. Mama Welles. Could introduce you to Kerry Eurodyne if he's around. Three of us could grab a beer. Think you'd like him.”

“Sure,” Mitch agrees. “Admit I'm not as into his later stuff, and as for those Us Cracks he's been touring with...” he shakes his head.

“Oh, I get you. They're nice girls. Got nothin' against 'em. But hell would be having to listen to Pon Pon Shit on repeat.” They both laugh at that.

“What about that input of yours,” Mitch asks, crushing his cigarette out in the sand with his shoe.

“You mean ex-input,” V corrects him. Had he thought they were still together? Or that she wanted to be? She supposed she'd never really clarified that point. Hadn't had reason before. “River and I don't talk much these days. Wouldn't mind meeting up, checking in on the kids, but, got zero interest in rekindling things. Good guy and all, but we didn't really fit. Should'a just stayed friends, I think...” _Like us_ , she adds silently. But she doesn't really believe that anymore, does she?

She searches Mitch for some reaction, but he just nods and says they should head back. _The fuck you expect_ , she thinks. _For him to jump for joy and admit he's loved you all this time?_ She rolls her eyes at that.

They return to the car, but before Mitch can start it V hears herself say, “And anyway there's someone else...” Mitch's hand freezes on the ignition. V freezes. _What the fuck am I saying!?_ _Abort. Rewind._ _Just start the car, Mitch._

He doesn't start the car. Instead, he asks, “Someone from the family?”

V fists the material of her jeans, and swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

“You together? Don't recall hearing about it. And you know how gossip gets around.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just a one-sided thing. Probably. Really don't think he sees me like that.” She wants to look over at him, see if she can guess what he's thinking. Has he figured it out? His voice betrays nothing. Her heart pounds. She stares forward.

“You ask him?”

V shakes her head again.

“Why not?”

 _Seriously man, what's with the third degree?_ she thinks, but instead she takes a breath. Lets it out. Answers honestly. “Fear of rejection? Don't wanna mess up a friendship, make things awkward? Etcetera...” she trails off.

“Should just ask him,” Mitch says with a shrug. “It won't be any time soon, fates willing, but best not to die with regrets, right?” He starts the car, shaking his head. Mutters something under his breath V doesn't catch.

“Maybe...” V relents.

They drive in silence until Mitch tunes the radio to a local punk station, and V stares out her window, thinking. She knows he's right, but knows how likely it is she'll get turned down. She imagines he'll be cool about it, tell her something like he's flattered but no thanks – that she's too young, or whatever. Then she'll move on, and they'll stay friends, because that means too much to her to let a silly thing like her damaged pride fuck that up.

But she wants this too much, more and more as the weeks go by. And she's not sure she's ready to have that tiny hope of what could be dashed just yet.

But it's that tiny hope that starts her talking anyway. She turns the radio down.

“Hey, Mitch?”

“Yeah, V?”

“Do you-” she's cut off when his phone buzzes. “Hang on,” he tells her, and lets his implant take the call. V sags back, relieved rather than disappointed.

“Yeah?

“For fuck's sake, again? Last time it was the fuel lines, you check those?

“Alright, I'll take a look. We're on our way back now.

“Uh huh. 

“No, just... I'll be there soon.”

Mitch hangs up. Curses, softly.

“Generators crap out again?” V guesses.

“Yup.” He floors the gas, and the Coyote shoots forward.

“As in both of them?”

Silence answers for him.

“You know, with all the scratch from that Mikoshi tech, we could replace them...” she suggests. She'd said so before, but nomads had that stubborn pride of theirs that had them believing they could fix anything. And a certain stubbornly proud mechanic was no exception.

“Might be right,” Mitch surprises her by agreeing. He doesn't ask what she was about to say before. V turns the music back up.

They park at the edge of a camp lit only by campfires and oil lamps, as the cliffs along the eastern side block the rising sun, and there's an odd hush with the generators out. Before Mitch can head off, V grabs his wrist to stop him. He looks back at her, eyebrows raised, and she steels herself. _Now or never_ , she thinks, or she'll just talk herself out of it again. Timing's shit, but when won't it be? And she's sick of being that pitiful girl pining away in silence.

“Do you see me like that? Or could you?” she asks. “Like, as more than a friend,” she clarifies. For a long moment he just stares back at her. “It's cool if you don't,” she quickly adds. “I know this is pretty outta nowhere...”

She realizes she's still gripping his arm, and it's all heated skin, hard bone and sinew beneath. Her hand doesn't quite fit around it. She lets go. The silence stretches on and his head cocks sideways and she holds back a nervous giggle at the thought that she's broken him. She's regretting her confession already.

“You're serious?” he says finally. He looks incredulous now, which she figures is kinda fair, but whatever he's about to say next is cut off when a teen with a pink mohawk runs up to them, looking frantic. V remembers he calls himself Cash, after some singer from a century ago.

“There you are, man! We got the freezers on backups for now, but that only buys us a day before they thaw...”

“Calm down, kid. We'll get it sorted before then,” Mitch assures him, and turns back toward V. “We'll talk soon, alright,” he tells her, as Cash drags him off. He's a ways away, nearly swallowed by the dark, when he glances back at her. She thinks maybe he's smiling. That tiny hope expands until she feels like she might explode from it, and she smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A timely update!? Just don't get used to it kids ;)
> 
> On a side note, I used the Porsche for Claire's races, and the end of each one it was on fire with at least one door missing. I also drove into the river on accident. Twice. Sorry, Johnny...


	6. Communication Breakdown

_Hey, girl, I got something I think you ought to know._  
_Hey, babe, I wanna tell you that I love you so._

-Led Zeppelin

Mitch grasps the edge of a water trough, eyes closed, and exhales deeply. The right side of his torso feels like it's on fire. He wants a smoke, but he's out, and if he returns to his tent for a pack he'll collapse on his cot just to lay awake anyway. He's been going through too many besides. Thinks maybe he should cut back.

He splashes his face with water that's lukewarm and only marginally cleaner than he is, but it helps him feel awake. Awake-ish. Coffee, he thinks. Coffee would be good. He licks his lips, tasting salt and metal and dirty rainwater, and grimaces. A shower, too. He eyes the line of people there already and decides it can wait.

The repairs had taken until the sun blazed high and hot above, and his own rattled head space was partly to blame. Almost funny, that. The chaos of battle – gunfire and blood, death and pain – that barely fazed him. The stumbling confession of some girl? He was a right mess. Grinning like an idiot one second, staring off in disbelief the next, then arguing with himself that it was a terrible idea. He'd almost asked Cassidy for advice. Thankfully only almost.

He straightens, wincing at the pain in his side, and approaches the first person he sees – a girl who'd recently decided her nickname would be Blade (or was it Slice? something to do with knives. He calls her Annie because he's not sure and partly to be an ass) if she's seen V. She pouts and flips her braids but gestures with her thumb northward. “She got put on sentry, cuz Tony can actually fix shit. And she's a better shot anyway... but don't tell Tony that.”

Mitch thanks her and heads toward the guard post. He gets as far as gripping the ladder's bottom rung before he hesitates. Despite the thoughts that had circled back and again all night he still hasn't come to an actual decision. Cons: about a dozen. Pros: approximately one. Mitch wants this. Wants her. Could that count as two? Sure, why not. He climbs the ladder.

V leans against the guard rail, facing the desert outside camp with Overwatch propped beside her. She's got those tight jeans on, and a loose tee cut off to reveal several inches of bare skin beneath the frayed hem. It's nowhere as revealing as some of the stuff he's seen her in, but his gaze still lingers on her trim waist and the curve of her ass. Faced with the reality of her, beautiful despite her obvious exhaustion as she turns toward him, the disbelief returns.

Was it really just hours ago that she'd gone on about having feelings for someone, while Mitch played the supportive friend, silently calling himself a hypocrite? Frustrated with own jealousy, it hadn't even occurred to Mitch that he was the one she was talking about.

Someone had managed to hoist a ratty couch up onto the platform, and with a sigh he sinks down on it. He nods at V in greeting, and she shoots him a tired smile in response. “Crisis averted?” she asks him.

“For now,” he replies. “Had to cannibalize one of the generators for parts. Pan's already got the word out looking for replacements, and regretting her over-abundance of caution. Meantime we'll be rationing power.”

V hums, and pushes herself off the rail to join him on the couch. Her knee brushes his thigh and he reaches for a cigarette. Mentally curses when he remembers.

“So...” she starts. She looks at him and chews on her thumbnail, expectant.

“Yeah,” he answers. There's a few beats of silence before he continues. “Yeah, as in I feel the same. I'm interested in you. Have been for a while now. Tried not to be, but,” he trails off, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Stares out at the desert because everything about her is distracting.

“Never said anything. Why?” she asks him.

“Same reasons as you, I guess, and I figured my chances were somewhere between slim and zero.” Mitch sighs, running a hand through his thinning hair, acutely aware of where it's gone entirely. “Besides, you had enough on your plate. Seemed like you needed a friend more than... all that.”

“I did,” she acknowledges. “And I appreciate you being one. Really.” He waves her off. Doesn't tell her that she was one of the few bright spots in the shitshow that was Night City. Thinks maybe he should.

“I'm old enough to be your father, V,” he says instead. Because he feels like one of them has to.

“And?”

“And that doesn't bother you?”

“No,” she says. He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. 

“Listen,” she continues. “It really doesn't matter to me. And before you ask, I don't have a thing for older men. No daddy issues.” Mitch snorts at that, and V grins in response. “Never actually been into someone older before. Not where they looked it anyway-” She stops, wincing, and he presses his lips together. “Fuck, that came out wrong,” she says quickly. “Like, really wrong. What I mean is-”

“I know what you mean,” he interrupts her. She takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“I like you,” she goes on. “For you. Just as you are. Don't care about the age thing.” She pauses and the look on her face makes him forget what he's about to say next. Makes him forget that touch of insecurity at her accidental jab earlier too. There's hope and fear and some raw emotion he can only describe as longing. Makes his heart pound and heat stir in his gut. Makes another part of him stir too. Long time since a woman looked at him like that.

“Does it matter to you?” she asks him.

“A bit,” he admits.

She nods and fusses with her hair. “So what happens now?” What indeed, Mitch wonders. What would Scorpion say to him, were he here? Probably kick him in the ass and tell him to 'go for it, gonk.'

“Guess that's up to you,” he decides.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning this can go one of two ways,” he explains. “We acknowledge this, whatever it is, and we ignore it. Nothing changes. Probably the smart thing.”

“And you could do that, even now?” She looks a little hurt, but he shrugs.

“Sure. Compartmentalize.” Like he has been for months, in regards to his feelings for her. He leaves that part out. “Telling me you've never had to do that?”

“Well, yeah,” she relents. Then she straightens, and her eyes meet his. “And if I don't want that?” Her voice is low with that touch of vocal fry that always gets to him, and he's wondering if he didn't just lie to her and himself. Could they really go back to how things were?

Part of him wants to say 'to hell with it.' Wants nothing more than to pull her toward him, lose himself in her, and they could figure it out with words after. He tells that part to settle the fuck down, and shifts to hide the hard-on he's sporting like some goddamn teenager before she notices.

“Not really into doing things halfway, V. It'd be different if we just met, and we're getting to know each other. But we're past that, aren't we?” She's silent, so he continues. “Don't really feel like playing the 'will we, won't we' game.” He shoots her a grin, a little self-deprecating. “I'm too old for that shit.”

Her brow crinkles at that. “You're saying... you'd want a relationship?”

He nods, and shifts so he's facing her. Figures if she sees how she's affecting him, well, maybe they're past that too. “Guess we could do the date thing first.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the mechanic's tent. “Think I've got a few beers left in the fridge under my workbench. Won't be cold, though.”

At that she laughs, easing the tension between them somewhat. “Gee, so romantic.”

“Yeah, well, no one's ever accused me of being that,” he admits, chuckling.

She nods and her eyes go half-lidded, and then her hand is on his shoulder and it's all the warning he gets before her mouth meets his. Just a whisper of breath and a tentative brush of lips at first, and then her tongue darts out to taste him. For a moment he just sits there stupidly, because he's still a little shocked that this is real.

She starts to pull away, and lest she mistake his lack of response as rejection, he reaches up with his prosthetic hand to cup her face. Brings her back and kisses her, hard, and it's hungry and a little sloppy and he's out of practice, but she kisses him back and whimpers against his mouth all the same.

His thumb traces the edge of her jaw, damp with a hint of sweat, and his mouth follows tasting salt. He sucks at the pulse point below her ear and she shivers, so he moves his hand to the back of her head to thread his fingers through her hair. Gives it a firm yank, and thinks maybe he shouldn't have, but she moans and throws her head back so he stops worrying and licks her neck. Bites her a little to see how she'll react, and when she gasps, clawing at his shoulder, he grins against her throat.

“Guess we're going with choice two, then?” he manages to ask. She laughs, breathless, in response.

Her hands move to his face, drawing patterns with her fingertips, and he realizes she's following the lines of cybernetics and the ugly scar on his cheek. He kisses her again, alternates between tender and rough, and when her leg moves along his own he hooks a hand under her knee to draw it over his lap. Grabs her ass to draw her closer when she presses herself against him.

She bends to suck at his neck, and he fists her hair and groans at the scrape of teeth, and maybe says her name out loud. Groans again when her thigh shifts over his cock and she grinds against him. Once, twice, then repeating in an erratic rhythm, and he encourages her by squeezing her ass and dragging his mouth across her temple, down her jaw and over her throat again. He drags short nails over the bare skin of her lower back, and her arm tightens around him. He bites down just above her collarbone. She stiffens, shuddering, and slumps against him, hot puffs of breath on the side of his neck.

“Did you just...?” he trails off.

“Yeah,” she laughs, sheepish.

“Christ,” he whispers.

And he's really fucking tempted to drag V off to his tent, or even have her right here, but it's too much and too soon, and maybe it's old fashioned but he feels like she deserves better. Like he already let things go farther than they should have. So he waits for her to settle down a bit, though he can't resist running his hand across the bare skin of her waist and over the curve of her ass again, before gently nudging her off him.

And fuck, if she isn't one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, all flushed and soft eyed, lips swollen and wet. There's marks on her neck where he bit her, and he touches them lightly. Smooths out her hair. It takes every ounce of his self control to pull away from her.

He scans the horizon, because they're supposed to be on watch after all. Boneless, she settles against his side, head on his shoulder as he rests a hand on her hip. He takes in the scent of her greedily now - desert flowers and gunpowder, a woman's sweat and a hint of ozone.

After a while V clears her throat. “Got a question for you, now.”

“Uh huh.” Mitch watches her fingers trail over the SynthSkin of his prosthetic like she's testing the feel of it.

“Does it bother you that my mind technically ain't a human's? That I'm a construct, mimicking a person?”

“This again?” And he knows he shouldn't laugh, that this crisis of identity is one she genuinely struggles with, but the idea that she's somehow lacking in humanity is absurd. “You're one of the most human people I know, V,” he tells her honestly.

“But-” She starts to pull away but he holds her in place, satisfied when she complies despite her irritated sigh.

“Got a question for you instead. Back when Silverhand was kicking around in your psyche, you ever see him as just software? As anything less than a person?”

“Maybe at first,” she admits. “But as I got to know him better, no. He was as real as I was.”

“And you cared about him, right?”

“Obviously,” she says. She holds out her arm to show off the silly tattoo Johnny had gotten them, that she once admitted she didn't have the heart to remove. And on that same arm, just above her wrist, 'Never Stop Fighting,' the last words he'd said to her. And Mitch knows she's got Samurai lyrics inked on her back. 'Since Johnny didn't get a grave, I'll be his memorial,' she'd explained. Mitch lays his hand over her arm, tracing the words with his thumb before threading his fingers through hers.

“Do I gotta keep spelling it out for you?” he asks her. “Let me put it another way. Let's say you forgot about what happened in Mikoshi. You woke up not knowing you were an engram. Would you have known about the change? Would you have felt any different?”

“Honestly? Prob'ly not,” she admits. “Could tell I'd changed, that I had a little more Johnny in me, but that was true before. Couldn't tell you what of that was even the relic, or just him being in my head twenty-four seven. Gonna sound weird, but it's comforting, knowin' I've got a piece of him still.” 

Mitch nods. “I get that.”

“Though there is the fact that I went from better-than-average hacker to genius code freak overnight,” she tells him. “But other than that, no. I wouldn't have known. But maybe that's just Alt's programming working like it's s'posed to.”

Mitch nods, and hesitates before telling her, “I was married once, you know.”

She sits up and this time he lets her. Her eyes are wide. “No, I didn't. Why am I only learning this now?”

He shrugs. “Wasn't relevant before, and anyway it was a long time ago. We got together young. Maybe too young. Starting growing apart like couples do. We were 'taking a break' when I joined the war effort.”

“That was when Myers got elected, right? In '69?”

“That's right. Nine years ago, almost to the day. Anyway, when I got back she and I tried to reconcile. It didn't go well.” He smiles bitterly, remembering. The constant nightmares, learning to live as a civilian again, and with the guilt of coming back when others didn't. And all those heated arguments thrown in the mix. She could've been more understanding, sure, but so could he. 

“The issues we had before didn't go anywhere, and on top of that I came back different,” he goes on. “Too different. She said she didn't know me anymore. We split officially not even a year after.”

“Do I... know her?” V asks.

Mitch shakes his head. “There was a lot of movement between families after the war. Some lost most of their fighters and fell on hard times, others took in so many refugees they got too big to support. We were one of the latter. She left for another family after we divorced. Said she wanted a new start, and not just 'cause of me. Ran into her, maybe three years back? She remarried, and was a lot happier than I ever could've made her. Anyway, my point is, people change. Makes us more human, not less. And in the case of those who fought, military definitely aimed for 'less.' Got a few wires crossed of my own, as you might recall.”

They're both silent, lost in their respective thoughts, and Mitch searches the desert for movement. But it's just after high noon, the hottest part of the day. Not even animals are stirring, now. “Went off on a bit of a tangent there, didn't I?” Mitch smiles, apologetic. V shakes her head, smiling back. “But you see what I'm getting at, right? Does that answer your question?”

“I think so,” she tells him.

“And even if you do insist on seeing yourself as two different people, which I don't, I've known this you a lot longer. And the you now is the one I...” He almost says 'fell in love with,' but stops himself. “Is the one that's here. That I want to be with,” he says instead.

“Okay,” she says, and leans against him once more. Mitch puts an arm around her. “Too tired to debate it anyway,” she yawns. “Running on like twenty minutes of sleep and coffee here.”

“There's coffee?” he asks hopefully.

“Naw, drank it all,” she replies.

“Okay, we're fighting,” he tells her. She laughs, and he feels her lips brush over his cheek. Mitch gives her a brief kiss before sagging back against the couch cushions. Her head falls to his shoulder, and he's struck by disbelief again, and also a feeling of rightness. He takes over keeping watch as her breath evens out, and that's how Ramiro finds them an hour later. Only glances curiously at the pair before stretching with a loud yawn and an audible pop in his spine. V stirs against him.

“You get any sleep, man?” Mitch asks.

“Some.” Ramiro rubs at his face and sighs. “More than either of you, I'm guessing.”

Mitch nods. Nudges V awake. “Hey, your replacement came while you slept on the job.” He smirks at her as she starts awake, blinking at her surroundings in confusion. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” she mumbles.

“Least you didn't try to knife me this time,” Mitch jokes. “I was ready for you though.” V narrows her eyes in response.

He follows her off the platform and they stare at each other in silence. Earlier was one thing, but now, among the bustle of camp activity and surrounded by every possible audience, he's not quite sure how to act. He settles for an awkward pat on her arm, which she raises an eyebrow at.

“You should get some rest, V,” he says to her.

“So should you. Maybe visit the ripper first? Can see you're favoring that side.” She gestures in the direction of his recent injury. The pain's faded to a dull throb, but he's pretty sure he's aggravated something.

“I'll do that,” he agrees. She nods, satisfied, and rubs her eyes. They're bloodshot, with dark circles beneath, and her face is pale.

“Go get some sleep,” he tells her again.

“Yes sir,” she says softly and winks before turning to leave. And maybe he's imagining it, but there's an extra sway to her hips as she walks away. He stares after her a moment before spotting Bruce lounging nearby, cigarette in hand.

“Hey, let me bum one of those,” he says, and the man complies. Mitch lights up and closes his eyes a moment before squinting up at the sky. Wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into. Takes another drag and grins, wide.


End file.
